


a fighter by his trade

by ElisAttack



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Boxing & Fisticuffs, Explicit Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 17:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElisAttack/pseuds/ElisAttack
Summary: The crowd roars and swells around him, hands reaching, clapping him on the shoulders, shaking him in congratulations, and all Bucky does is wonder if Steve will finally take him home.Or the one where Bucky boxes, and loves Steve Rogers.





	a fighter by his trade

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a bit of a break from the emotional smorgasbord that is chapter 5 of 'jury duty', so here's some pining and smut, two of my favourite things.
> 
> Title (and the whole fic really) is from The Boxer by Simon & Garfunkel.

 

He’s got blood on his teeth, blood on the tip of his tongue, but at least he’s better off than the other guy.

He sneers at the clean shaven fella with hair the colour of straw, and green eyes, one of which is swollen and quickly turning black.  Must be some midwestern hotshot who thinks he can come into Bucky’s town and take all his money, just because he won some bar fights back home.  Bucky spits out blood.

He sways on his feet, but his opponent’s listing, eyes crossed from the blow Bucky landed to the side of his head.  Blood rushes in his veins, and he goes in for the kill.

The announcer lifts Bucky’s arm into the air.  Sweat drips from his hair, trailing down his neck.  He glistens with it, and all the lights in the converted ice packing warehouse are trained on him.

He’s gotta be sparkling like golden Audrey Munson.  Miss Manhattan, all curves and beauty, immortalized forever is every statue on the island.

Bucky’s Mister Brooklyn, in all his bloody, working-class glory.  Immortalized in the eyes of men who bet their hard earned wages on him.  He loses a fight, and their wives succumb to melancholy, their children go hungry, and they gang up on Bucky in alleys to kick the shit out of him.  Can’t do it individually, of course, Bucky would lay them out flat to dry. Circle of fucking life.

He looks up through the hair plastered to his forehead, searching the crowd.  Swiping away the blood from his mouth, he meets worried sky blue eyes for a moment, before the rush of people swallows him up again.  His chest heaves, and he tries to breathe, the blood soaring through his veins for another reason.

The crowd roars and swells around him, hands reaching, clapping him on the shoulders, shaking him in congratulations, and all Bucky does is wonder if Steve will finally take him home.

***

Bucky sits on the locker room bench, unwrapping his hands when the door swings open.  Steve leans against the jamb, arms crossed in front of his thin chest. Bucky wonders what he looks like, now that the sweat’s all dried.  He knows he reeks to high heaven.

“Hey,”  Bucky croaks, wincing when the bandages peel away to smeared blood.  Seems like he split open his knuckles on Mister Midwest’s jaw. Bucky bookeeps for a shipping company when he’s not punching out bulky men, tomorrow’s workday is going to be swell.

Steve comes in, and shuts the door softly.  Everyone’s gone drinking, and the only reason Bucky isn’t out with them forgetting his woes, is the man walking over, and standing front of him.

“Hi, Buck,”  Steve says, “Can I see?”  He holds out his hand in offering.  Bucky lays his hand in Steve’s, palm to palm.  Steve frowns at the damage, turning his hand this way, and that.  He’s got ink lodged beneath his fingernails, smudged into the whorls of his fingerprints like it’s permanently melted into his skin.  “You got antiseptic?” He asks, eyes bright blue and shining.

“There’s iodine beneath the sink, and bandages.”

Steve nods, and gently tugs on Bucky’s hand, pulling him to his feet.

Bucky leans a hip against the sink, while Steve washes his artistic profession off his skin best he can, the running water filling the silence between them.  Joke’s on him, Steve’s not the one with the filthy hands. Afterall, what’s ink compared to blood?

Steve rubs soap lather into Bucky’s cuts, then rinses it off with ice cold water.  His hand sits under the running water so long it goes numb, until he can’t feel any pain, until he can’t even feel his fingers anymore.  The iodine goes on with no sting, staining his skin a sickly yellow, tincture dripping onto the chipped enamel sink.

“You came,”  Bucky says, as Steve wipes his hand dry, then picks up a roll of bandages,  “I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t want to,”  Steve says honestly, and his words feel like being kicked in the ribs while lying on cold cobblestones.  Both of them are intimately familiar with what that feels like.

“I’m sorry,”  Bucky says, ducking his head, trying to meet Steve’s eyes.  Steve refuses to look at him, he just glares angrily at Bucky’s wounds, but his hands are gentle, even though his tone isn't.

“No you’re not,”  Steve says, and he sounds as bitter as day old coffee grounds,  “And that’s fine, you don’t have to be sorry for what I did.”

Bucky slips his hand out of Steve’s when he’s done wrapping it, then reaches for his wrist.  Bucky can wrap his fingers around it so they overlap, he’s that skinny. Steve glances up at him in surprise, and he’s caught.  Trapped, he’s a prey animal, ready to bite back before Bucky can snap jaws around his neck.

That’s the last thing he wants.

Before Steve can say anything, Bucky clutches desperately at his wrist, saying,  “I pushed you away. I thought you were doing it ‘cause I wanted it. I’m scared of that, Stevie, that you’d offer yourself to me just ‘cause I asked.  I don’t want that, I’d rather not have you at all.”

“Bucky…”  Steve breathes, eyes glistening.

Bucky lifts his other hand.  “No, pal, let me speak.”

The faucet drips, and Bucky gathers together his words.  He isn’t having as much trouble as he usually is after he gets punched in the face, must’ve not rattled his brain as much.

“I don’t want anything from you that you’re not willing to give,”  Bucky says, “You want to only be friends, fine, I can do that happily.  You want me to move out for good, fine, I’ll move back in with Ma, hell she hasn’t minded me sleepin on the couch the last few days, maybe she won’t mind it for a few more months.  You want to never see me again—” His throat goes dry, and Steve looks like he wants to interrupt, but Bucky coughs, and powers on through. “Fine, I can deal. But I don’t ever want to force you into anything, I couldn’t stand it, Steve.”

“Bucky, I’ve wanted you since I was sixteen,”  Steve says all in a rush, and Bucky’s hand drops from his wrist.

“You—”

“I want you so bad,”  Steve says, and his face glows a vibrant pink, even in the shitty lighting.  “That night, when you were looking at me like that, coming home all drunk, and just _looking_ at me, not some other girl, me, I just—Bucky.”  Steve clutches at his undershirt, head bent until Bucky can’t see anything but his thick eyebrows, and the flop of his uneven parting.

Bucky’s hands move before he even knows what he’s doing.  He grips the back of Steve’s neck, vertebrae bumpy beneath his fingers, and slides his bruised, broken hands into that golden hair.

All he is, is just a bloody mouth that’s hungry for more.

Steve looks up.  His eyes are red from crying over Bucky, and that just won’t do, not at all.  With a thumb on Steve’s cheek, Bucky tilts his head back, pulling him out of shadows and into light.

Bucky bends and kisses him.  Steve gasps into his mouth, throwing his arms instantly over Bucky’s shoulders, he clutches at him.  Bucky’s fingers dig into skin, holding Steve steady as he moves their mouths together. All finesse forsaken for desire.  He doesn’t know if this is Steve’s first kiss, doesn’t know if any of the dates Bucky set up ever went anywhere. Bucky doesn’t know, because he was afraid to ask.

He pushes Steve back until his hips touch the sink, then presses all along the front of his body.  Bucky licks Steve’s bottom lip, the broken skin under his tongue. Steve stands on his tiptoes, digging nails into his back and Bucky has never felt anything this good.  Steve’s wanted him since he was sixteen, well, Bucky’s loved Steve since they were little more than kids.

He braces his arm on the chipped mirror above Steve’s head, letting it take his weight, not wanting to put it all on Steve.  If he looked up, he imagines he’d see desperation, want, and love in his own reflection. His eyes red from crying, his face flushed from wanting, and his lips red from loving.

He tears his mouth away.  “Let me have you, let me have you,”  Bucky begs, “Please, Steve, let me suck you.”

“Yes.”  Steve nods desperately, nails biting so hard he’s drawing blood.  Bucky wants to scream in pleasure from the sting of it. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Bucky slides his hands under Steve’s thighs, picking him up and depositing him on the sink’s edge.  His pants are probably wet now, but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He whimpers into Bucky’s mouth as he pushes Steve’s braces off his shoulders.  They clatter against the enamel. He slips a hand down and pulls Steve’s shirt from his trousers, uncaring that he hears a button snap when he pulls apart the fly, impatient, so impatient.

He reaches into Steve’s underthings, and pulls him out.  He looks from Steve’s flushed face, to his flushed cock, then back again.  His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his lashes cast deep shadows along his cheekbones.  Bucky just holds him in his hand. He hasn’t frozen like this since he popped his cherry.  Thankfully, Steve is too busy looking stunned to notice his hesitation.

Bucky shifts his grip, then licks his other hand, getting it all wet.  Steve whimpers, a small sound that tears down every single one of Bucky’s defences.  It’s the weak sound he makes when he’s bedridden with fever. It’s the pleasured sound he makes at night when he thinks Bucky’s asleep.  It’s the pained sound he makes when he’s getting beat on, and Bucky’s too late to stop him from hurting.

He strokes Steve, foreskin moving up and over the head.  He’s seen Steve naked before, but never hard like this. Bucky’s never wanted to have sex with a man other than Steve.  He’s never seen a erect penis other than his own. Bucky’s cut, but Steve is obviously not, and it makes Bucky’s heart race.  He wants to taste.

He holds onto Steve’s thighs, and goes to his knees.  Steve watches, eyes never leaving his face. His lips form the syllables to his name, but no sound comes out.  Bucky rubs Steve’s knees as he crouches on one bent knee. Steve’s joints would always get cold and achy in the winter.  When they were kids Bucky used to rub them warm for him. Steve seems to remember this because his gaze goes from lustful to fond, though his pupils remain dilated.  Bucky grins up at him, and places one gentle kiss to each knee.

Thumb trailing along the legs that Bucky has imagined thrown over his shoulders on many occasions, they come to rest on the divots of Steve’s hips.  Bucky squeezes, and Steve’s legs fall open, and there he is.

He trails kisses up one thigh, and then the other, watching for Steve’s reaction.  His mouth has fallen open, his head and shoulders leaning back against the mirror, as though he can’t even support himself anymore.  Fuck, Bucky should have realized.

“You doing okay, Stevie?”  Bucky asks, worried, “Spine alright?”

Steve blinks, but seems to register Bucky’s words after a few moments.  He licks his lips, saying, “I’m good for now, I’ll let you know when it becomes a problem.”

Bucky smiles, pleased, and presses a smacking kiss to his thigh,  “Thank you, that’s all I ask.” He folds his arms over Steve’s thighs, resting his chin on top, happy as a slice of pie.

“Bucky?”

He looks at Steve through his lashes, fluttering them, knowing how pretty it makes him look before he’s about to go down on a girl.  “Yeah, Stevie?”

“You were about to do something,”  Steve says, his voice is rough, but one brow lifts in a tease.  Steve’s eyes flicker down to his erection which rests against his hipbone, all sad-looking now that Bucky’s not touching it.

Bucky hides his face in between Steve’s legs, and swallows down the giggle threatening to come out.  He is a grown man, God forbid, he doesn’t _giggle_.

“That right?”  He says mock serious, once he has extracted himself.

“Hmm.”

“Well then,”  Bucky says. Reaching for Steve’s cock, he wraps his hand around the base and then wraps his lips around the tip.  Bucky knows what he likes on himself, so he uses all that knowledge to give his Stevie the best damn suckjob of his life.

Bucky quickly learns that Steve doesn’t talk a lot during sex, but he manages to communicate just fine in other ways.

He inhales sharply, ass scooting closer to the edge of the sink when Bucky pulls back his foreskin and rubs the velvet smooth skin of his inner lip over the head.  He clutches a hand in his own hair, making it stand up every which way, when Bucky laps at the tip. He stares down at Bucky, eyes half open when he presses sloppy kisses up and down the shaft.  He hisses when Bucky unclenches his other hand from the sink’s edge to stroke the skin around the base of Steve’s cock, running fingernails through the hair growing there. He moans when Bucky strokes what he can’t suck, spreading his spit around.

When Bucky tries to fit more of him into his mouth, but can’t seem to manage it, tears fall from his eyes, running down his cheeks.  Steve whispers his name, and drops a hand to his head, just resting, not grabbing at his hair. He comes in Bucky’s mouth, and it’s the most quiet he’s ever been.

Bucky doesn’t quite know what to do with the bitter liquid in his mouth, but he hopes that Steve won’t be offended as he stands, and leans past him to spit it out in the sink.  He turns on the tap, and rinses his mouth out, washes his hands.

“Bucky,”  Steve whispers, head falling to rest on his shoulder.

“Yeah?”  Bucky says, voice so hoarse, so painful, but fuck if he doesn’t love it.

“Let me do you now,”  Steve says, and he’s so earnest, and Bucky loves him so much.

He wipes his hands on his trousers, then pushes Steve’s sweaty hair back from his face.  Looking into his eyes, he says, “Take me home first?”

Steve smiles, and then he nods.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, tell me what you think!


End file.
